The House that Leah Built
by peace and joyce
Summary: The rise and fall of Coriolanus Snow.
1. Prologue: Homeless

**Finally! After eight months I can start publishing this! My goodness, the plot's been through about a hundred redrafts. And the ending about five hundred. But oh well. I can finally get this off my mind. (Updates might be a bit slow in coming)**

**Big thanks to Illuin for beta reading and encouragement!**

_75 Years after the Dark Days_

"You can't go!" my son shouts. He smacks a fist down on the letter that orders me to surrender. "You _promised_. You promised you wouldn't go back to him!"

"This ain't no request, Howard," I sigh. I am almost 79 years old, and tired of fighting. "I have been _summoned_."

"He can't summon you like you're his bloody lapdog!"

"I think you'll find he can."

"Then I'm going with you." he blurts out- what's the word? Impetuously. Howard always dives head first into things, just like his father did. What would Aunt Emmeline say? 'Acts first and thinks later.'

I miss Aunt Emmeline.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I tell him.

"You can't stop me comin' with you any more than I can stop you going."

"They won't like it," I say for the first and last time.

"They don't like us anyway, Mom. Victors are executed on live TV every other day. Why are you still even alive? Because of an old memory? That's all that stopped you being reaped for the Quell. No. I wanna make sure you come home again."

"But if I come home or not is all on my own head, Howard. I've done what I had to do and now I gotta face that. I don't want you getting involved. Come with me if you want but don't think it will change anything."

He looks me in the eye, pleading.

"Don't go. Please Mom, don't go. What if something bad happens?"

"Then I'll have finally paid for my mistake." I turn to the window and look out at all my fields of grain. From up here, looks like they're waving to me, beckoning me to join them and be safe. But nothing ain't safe any more.


	2. King of the Garden

Howard stood at the front door, patiently holding my coat. Despite being all determined to go, when it came down to actually leaving, I dawdled and hung around for ages. Bought time, something I was very used to. Double checking that everything was all locked up, making sure my hair looked nice and all (not that it mattered or anything. I don't think they have beauty pageants on Death Row) hell I was so goddamn time-wasting I even did the ironing.

Which obviously resulted in me burning both hands on the iron multiple times and spending the next hour chained to the cold water tap.

Yes, my son is very patient.

But just when I had finished time-wasting, Howard gave me another thing I could waste time with.

Letters. All my unread mail from the past twenty plus years, which I had deliberately not read for varying reasons. I'm not talking about junk mail- 'cause that just goes straight in the trash can. My pile of yellowy unopened letters did not fall into the category of junk mail, which is why it didn't all get thrown away.

'Cause ignoring letters from the Capitol is bad news. If Peacekeepers had found the letters in the trash (sounds stupid, but I was really scared that would happen) I would have been in so much trouble.

So they'd just collected dust.

I wasn't sure I really wanted to read those letters, but Howard persuaded me that it was a good idea and I suppose it was. If I was going back to the Capitol, I may as well get everything out in the open. Besides, it weren't like I could do anything about it now.

I read them all. I'm a real slow reader, but whenever a bit of a letter made me feel uncomfortable or scared (even twenty years later) I just read it really quickly, like I was on fast forward or something, which meant I got through them all relatively speedily.

Some letters were easier than others. Out of date threats didn't mean too much, but some bits were really kind of frightening. Maybe because I knew just how true they were.

One made me jump with fear, as if he was right next to me and I knocked over a paperweight. I tried to bend down and pick it up but old age got in the way and I was as stiff as a board.

"Howard!" I yelled. "I need the Grabber!"

"Are you sure?" He yelled back. "I can just pick it up for you!"

"No!" Old age also made me stubborn. "I don't want no help. Just the Grabber!"

I been using the Grabber the past couple of years: it's a long pole with a handle and a little robot hand on the end. When you squeeze the handle, the hand grabs what you're trying to pick up. It's real handy 'cause I'm as stiff as a board.

He gave me the Grabber and I picked it up the paperweight and put it back on the table. "There," I said. "Don't wanna leave it lyin' around like that. Someone could trip. Break a neck."

"I think people aren't all that worried about dying that way, Mom." Howard said carefully. He knew I didn't like the word "odds."

My shaky hands found Howard's steady ones and he walked me down the stairs, the same stairs that he had run up and down as a kid so long ago. He held on real tight, like he was worried I might just suddenly go nuts.

I began to slow down.

"Don't turn around" he was pleading again. "Don't turn around or everything just gets more complicated. Don't think about what's been, please."

He put his hand on my shoulder but he couldn't stop me from turning my head. "Don't!"

But too late. I had turned already and I saw it.

I saw the rose.

* * *

63 years earlier

_"Run, Leah run!"_

_"The stupid bint got a 3! A _3_!"_

_"The gal with the grain: LEAH WISHART!"_

_"Girl's as slippery as a barrel full of eels"_

_"Allies?"_

_"That'll take the wind out of her sails"_

_"Let the 12th Hunger Games begin!"_

_"Win for me Leah"_

_"Look at us. Look at what they've done to us."_

_"That is irrelevant, to the Capitol." _

It sat on the side, all soft white petals, fine as ever. I tried to figure out how Capitol people could make it last so long without water. It made my brain hurt thinking about it but that was better. Better than my heart hurting. Better to think about stuff I didn't really understand than stuff I didn't really want to understand.

Stuff like the last Games.

I didn't deserve to win. I hadn't earned it the way Careers had. That's what the guilt mutts told me in the finale. But tough, I had. I had played my fellow tributes off against each other. Then I stepped in with my revenging ally to finish 'em all off. Only to then kill her too.

Come to think of it, it was a miracle I made it out in one piece, but I was covered in dirt and scars and splinters and blood and bruises and rash and midge bites. Small stuff- I'd been too afraid to notice. They were all gone now- except the scars. I was all new pink skin- and teeth. When I came out of the arena and started eating proper food again my teeth started falling out like dominoes, they'd gone all loose in the Games. I made a joke out of it at the time: folded my mouth over my teeth like an old granny but it hurt even more than getting all the hair on my legs ripped off again. It weren't like I liked my teeth or anything, but they were just- there. I remember when I was eight or nine years old and I'd just stand in front of a mirror wiggling a loose tooth with my tongue. Wiggling and giggling. Then I'd pop it under my pillow and get a shiny quarter in the morning. I felt sad, now that I'd lost that too.

I was worried they'd pull out all my teeth and I'd have to wear false ones and put them in a glass of water at night. And what if I couldn't find a glass big enough for 'em?But it turns out I had nothin' to worry about- with teeth, at least. They just plugged in shiny white new ones. My other teeth were so worn and crooked they had to spend ages just tryin' to get them all to match.

My stylist and my only friend in the Capitol, Calpurnia, came in with a little tray of porridge and grapes. Ever since I got on that hovercraft I had hardly ever stopped eating, even if eating hurt. The first thing I had was buttered toast, bread made with grain from my District and it never tasted so good, after too long of hard bread and worms and acorns and even a bit of bark (trees are plants too, aren't they?) with just mint leaves to make it taste a little better. I sure lost a lot of weight in the Games, not good since I didn't have all that much to begin with. At least I'd stopped growing by then, so I wouldn't be real short like some other victors went on to be.

Eating was good. Eating reminded me that I wasn't in the Games. I wondered if maybe that was why the Capitol folks ate so much. Eating was certainly a lot easier than thinking. Boy, I'd been doing a lot of thinking lately.

In a way, I was kinda dreading going home. Sure, I wanted to see my District again, more than anything, but I didn't know if I wanted to meet the people. Were they cheering me on? Did they hate me? Did they even wanna talk to me anymore? And my family. I'd have to go back to them and tell them I didn't save my brother, aka my District partner. Would they think I was bad? They thought all the other victors were bad. What would make me any different?

What was I going to do with my life now? During the Games, I had a plan. I always had some idea of where I was, what I was gonna do. Now it was all over, I felt lost. I hadn't planned for this. Sure, I wanted to win, I told myself I would try to win. But winning was so unlikely I didn't spend all that much time thinking about what would happen after.

It felt so strange to be inside again. The Remake Center, where I was all dolled up for the recap and crowning, felt like a whole new place. I felt like a whole new person... all muddled up. I had just got of the arena only to find out that them folks who ran the whole show wanted me dead the whole time. (But they sorta botched it up completely. Hell, I could have done a better job at killing me.) I barely made it and then after being attacked and threatened I had to go on with the crowning like nothing had happened and I'd just spent the afternoon napping on the couch and not trying to fend off a murdering batty lady.

"Do I have to do this?" I asked Calpurnia, again.

"Yes" Her answer was the same every time. "You are an adult now."

"No I ain't!" Adult meant scary stuff. Adult meant laundry. And bein' polite to Peacekeepers. "I can't be. I still count with my fingers."

"Then be an adult who counts with her fingers," She sighed. "But don't do it in public. You can't get out of this Leah."

"I been told that too many times" I said to myself.

She helped me into my dress like I was a little kid. It was a lovely dress, all soft and light in a fabric I'd never seen before, let alone worn, in a really pale shade of purple. Looking in the mirror, it looked like I was wrapped in a little purple cloud. It didn't hide the weight I'd lost during the Games. This was only more obvious when Calpurnia put a plaited dark brown belt around my waist. I looked like a gust of wind would knock me over.

It was all a lot simpler than what I wore when I was interviewed as a tribute. It was like somebody'd taken the girl I was the night before the Games started and washed all the life out of her. I looked real nice and all, but I didn't look strong. I guess that's what the President wanted.

"Quite simple ain't it?" I said to Calpurnia, carefully.

"Yes," she said. "Humility is a virtue that the Capitol wants you to show more of."

"Then why am I back in purple?"

She gave me a sneaky little half-smile. "I did have my own say in the matter, you know. And I want you looking spectacular."

I felt very free in it, but I also felt sort of exposed. I guess that was what the Capitol wanted as well.

Calpurnia picked up a big bottle of perfume, about to spray some on my freshly-washed curls but I stopped her. She shrugged.

"This is your night, Leah."

I looked back at the rose. In a way, it sorta looked back at me. If roses could talk, (and hell what an interesting world it would be if they could) it would say: "Why not?"

Why not indeed, I thought. So I picked it up, and put it on.

* * *

It was real stuffy under the stage. I knew of course, that after all this stuff was over I could go home and stick my head under the pillow and do nothing, but that didn't make me feel better. I just felt like I was going into another arena.

It was nice to hear the anthem. Reminded me that my Games were over and that next year someone else would take my spot, if the President didn't just go really mad and kill me first.

Then Isis Polava came on and I almost wanted to go up on stage just to see what crazy thing she was wearing. Charmian, Iras and Cymbeline got their bows as my prep team. Calpurnia got a- a standing ovation, I think it's called. Isis talked to her for ages to make up for the obvious lack of mentor, but even I could hear people talkin' in the audience- where's Dalia? Luckily my showing up onstage was enough to shut 'em up and most of them probably forgot all about Dalia.

I could hear Isis' shoutin' my name and I was lifted onto the stage. All the lights seemed even brighter than before. There was loads of applause and I gave 'em all a big wave, which they seemed to like. Isis came tottering over and gave me a big kiss that was sort of not a kiss. She just sort of kissed the air, which seemed a bit pointless to me but apparently all the divas do it. I almost wanted to laugh at her, she had completely forgotten that the night before the Games she was supporting District 2 (fair enough, they had won most of the previous Games) and she was wearing a bright red sparkly dress with a massive fruit basket on her head. Nobody had had the guts to tell her after she had gone onstage that District 11 is fruit, not 9.

I felt really nervous when I sat down in the victor's chair, like I wasn't supposed to be there. It then dawned on me that I would have to sit for three hours watchin' all this. I'd have to watch my brother die, all over again, in high definition. And of course, when the moment did come, they'd be sure to show my reaction so that everybody in the country would see me break down. Everybody in all of goddamn Panem would know how much it hurt me, all over again.

Heck, it's such a major moment in the 12th Games they even did it in slow motion in the highlights, the spear tearing through my brother, my scream edited and drawn out really slowly so that it was twice as long. Then the slow-motion cannon.

Every Games is a story and the 12th Games was a rags-to-riches one. They exaggerated this by including the interview with my family and editing the background so it looked even poorer than usual. My family were all in their best clothes, obviously, going on TV and all but the grief of the loss of my brother made 'em look so much poorer.

It was hard to look happy about anything after the bloodbath. When the boy from District 6 ran into a tree when he was being chased by mutts and collapsed, people in the audience actually laughed. I remember sittin' there and thinking: "Where's the joke? The fact that he ran into a tree? That ain't funny. He died 'cause of that."

They cut Mall's suicide from the highlights and used her speech as a voiceover for single flashbacks of what she had said: the mutts, the gas, all of it. To make it look like the Gamemakers won, not her.

The last bit of the Games wasn't the trumpets after I won, it was when I cut off my last opponent's head, with Mall's voice in the background: "Win for me Leah."

The anthem started again and suddenly everybody was standing up. I stayed sitting down like an idiot until I realised that the President was coming onstage and then I scrambled up and everybody laughed at me.

Coriolanus Snow held the cushion that my crown was on. He noticed the rose before the President did. He smiled, but the President was spittin' nails. He glared at me as he put the crown on my head and mouthed something that looked like "bench."

Then suddenly the President looked a whole lot less like a weasel and a whole lot more like someone could kill me. I wanted to run, fast as I could, back home. I wanted to be forgotten completely.

Isis brings the show to an end, happy not knowing anything beyond another great Games over. I left the stage when the cameras went off in a silent panic and all I really remember was Coriolanus Snow in the corner of my eye, looking as pleased as punch, like he knew something I didn't.


	3. House of Cards

**Ages since the last chapter... Mea culpa. But this took ages to write and probably might need redoing as it is a bit weird... And worked so much better in my head. Day-um. Anyway, on with this chapter!**

"What the _hell _was that?!"

"I don't know!"

Calpurnia was looking at me like she ain't never seen anything so terrifying in her life. Her being scared started to make me feel scared. I kept thinking and thinking, the moment I got off the stage, what had I possibly done wrong? I couldn't remember doing anything that bad. Sure, I stayed sitting down when the President came on, but it can't have been wrong, 'cause everyone was laughing about it.

She walked up and down the room like she was getting paid for it, she was thinking that hard. She knocked over a box of cotton reels and they spilled everywhere, thread making little criss-crossy patterns on the floor, but she didn't even notice. Later on, I'd become very familiar with that feeling.

"I don't get- what have I-"

She sighed in exasperation and pulled the rose off my dress and waggled it in my face, practically shoving it up my nose. Roses smell nice and all, but not really when they're so close to your face that you're practically inhaling petals.

"Look! That's what's wrong!"

"What, a flower?"

"Yes, a flower!"

"I don't get-"

She sighed again and she simmered with frustration like the steam coming off a kettle. "It's more than just a flower. It's always been more than just a flower. And when Leah Wishart- the newest Victor, Leah Wishart the walking billboard of Panem sports the flower of opulence, the flower of _political change_- it's more than just an insult."

Suddenly standing up seemed to become increasingly difficult and I virtually flopped into the nearest chair, paying no attention to the fact that some person had been silly enough to leave pins on it.

"What's- what's going to happen to him? _What's going to happen to me?_"

Calpurnia rubbed her face, breathing very slowly.

"I don't know." She turned to me, then away again. "You will have to learn, if you haven't already, that there are some folks in the Capitol who- who pounce if the President blinks with fear"

I thought real hard, trying to think of anybody I knew who was anything like that.

"Like- like Careers?"

She looked at me like I had just been crowned Village Idiot, not Victor.

"Leah, that's like comparing a pack of wolves to a small flock of mildly carnivorous sheep."

Oh.

"I'm dead, aren't I?"

"Not necessarily. With any luck, he'll be out of the way before he can retaliate. With any luck, this will eventually be forgotten before it can come back to bite you."

"I won't be forgettin' nothing."

"Naturally, but peace of mind isn't the issue here. As long as the Capitol eventually becomes indifferent to this whole matter we can rest a little easier."

"But I still don't know what to do!"

She became agitated again and started wringing out hands like they was dishcloths.

"I'm not the person who could help you, Leah. I sew clothes, not the seeds of something like this. Dressing you in finery is all the influence I have when it comes to politics. You'll have to talk to someone quite different."

I thought about it for ages, staring at my bare toes. I wasn't sure if it was a good plan or a really quite stupid one, but it was the only one I had.

Once again, I looked at the rose. For the second time that day, it gave me an idea.

* * *

I squinted at the piece of paper Calpurnia had given me. She had drawn a rough sort of map on it of the Capitol with these nifty little arrows pointing where I wanted to go. Thing is, I'm not all that used to maps. I'd always lived in District 9 and I had walked around it so many times I could tell you exactly what all the weeds looked like that grew on the edges of the roads. Heck, I could walk around it blindfolded if that wouldn't put me in danger of being run over. But the Capitol looked as different to District Nine as it was possible to be. The buildings were higher, with twice as many windows (though I never really saw anyone ever actually looking out of the windows which I thought was... weird) the sidewalks were wider- in fact, the roads looked pretty much the same as the sidewalks.

It was so clean too. I swear the streets were better polished than Mrs Caroline Hudson's dining table. (Mrs Hudson was one of District Nine's most ancient relics and she loved her mahogany dining table. I swear if you so much as breathed on it she'd go around re-polishing it. Even the bits of the table you didn't go anywhere near.) I wondered how the streets were so clean, then I guessed that's probably what Capitol folks did whenever the Hunger Games wasn't on TV.

The cars were the same- brightly coloured and all shiny and spotlessly clean. At home, if it's got a semi-working motor and a few wheels, it's road-worthy. But Capitol folks sure liked their automobiles looking nice. In fact, they were so darned good-looking you didn't want to get run over just 'cause it would mess 'em up.

That's why they had traffic lights- working traffic lights! None of District Nine's traffic lights were ever switched on. You had to have read a history textbook first just to know what colour they were on the landmark days that they were on. When you crossed the road at home, you just looked both ways and had a good hard listen and then took your chances. But the thing they do in the Capitol is real nifty. They got these white lines painted on bits of the road and when y'all walkers want to cross, you push this little button and a little sign lights up on the other side of the road with a hand and the helpful word STOP. Then when there ain't no danger, it goes off and another sign lights up with WALK. Damn, I thought this was so darn fantastic I crossed the road five times just so I could have an excuse to push the button and see it all light up all over again.

Yes, I got some very strange looks from folks in the street for that.

But after I'd exhausted enthusiasm in Capitol traffic control (believe me, it took a while) I realised that I really should get on with getting where I needed to go. Trouble was, I couldn't get my head around my map. Thing is, it was all in bird's eye view. Now, that's all well and good when you're a bird, but for a not particularly smart human being like myself, it weren't all that helpful.

So I tried a slightly more unusual method of navigation; "If I were a Capitol house, where would I be?" But I don't think I need to go into too much detail about how that didn't work. Not that I really expected it to.

I really didn't want to ask for directions, mainly 'cause Calpurnia had said that I was not to draw too much attention to myself (and hell I agreed with her on that) but I got a bit worried about timing and all, so I stopped the friendliest, most normal-looking person I could find and showed them my map and the address.

They didn't really get what I was on about, 'cause folks in the Capitol have a really weird way of speaking, but sign language came in handy. Well, it would have done. If either of us knew sign language. We just gestured and spoke real clear and hoped for the best.

And eventually, I managed to find my destination. A mere three hours behind schedule.

* * *

It was a tall townhouse in a sort of out-of-the-way street. Most Capitol folks live in apartments in those buildings, sometimes so high up folks would have to airlift in their groceries. Or at least, that's what I figured they did.

Apartments are a different thing in the Capitol to what they are at home. Their walls are thicker and more soundproof than even the walls of my house. Heck, in my house when I was a kid, all you had to do was sneeze in your sleep and everybody would wake up.

(I never really blended into an apartment, if you know what I mean, never fitted in like I did in a house. Later in my life, I lived in a Capitol apartment for several years and because it was always so quiet, I'd forget that strangers shared the building. Sometimes I'd wander around the corridors late at night when it was difficult to sleep 'cause I kept thinking about Games. Sometimes my mind'd be like "Nah, Leah you don't want to sleep right now. Don't you go even trying. Girl, what you need is a WALK, that's right a good solid walk around outside."

Which meant I had one helluva lot of explaining to do when my neighbours came home late at night from parties to find mid-thirties me sittin' on their doorstep slurping chocolate milk in my pyjamas. At two AM. Boy, did I learn a lot about my Capitol neighbours from watching them come home at that sort of time!)

But this house was actually a house and a pretty old one too. Heck, it'd be an old house even before the Dark Days, surviving bombing, rioting, arson and all things people do when they don't like a building. I wish I'd known what it was made of. I guessed people could do well to be made out of that sort of stuff.

I knocked on the dark blue front door as loudly as I dared and hung around awkwardly outside hoping the person coming to answer it was a fast walker. I felt quite uncomfortable just standing in a Capitol street, where all I had to do was say good morning to someone and then they'd figure out where I was from.

Thankfully, the Avox who answered was very prompt and to her credit, looked about as grumpy as I guess Avoxes are allowed to be. If she could speak, I think she'd probably say something along the lines of: "I came all the way down massive long flights of stairs from the top of the house for THIS?"

I explained who it was I had come to see and she nodded and then did some funny gestures with her hands as if to explain where he was, but unfortunately she made no more sense than Calpurnia's map and before I had the chance to tell her that I had no clue what the daisies I was supposed to do, she had already vanished. Leaving me alone in a stranger's house, or as Granddaddy Mitchie would have called it, the house of the enemy, who didn't even know I was there. Which would have been fine for Mitchie, but not for me.

Not wanting to stand around looking stupid (because wandering around looking stupid is better) I started to have a bit of a look around to try and find him, striding around purposefully to try and make it look like I actually knew where I was going. After all, I thought, there could only be so many rooms in the house he could be in, right?

And once again, I was lost.

I have to say, my unguided tour of the house was quite fun, especially as I was lucky enough not to be caught until after I had sniffed the perfume, tried on the hats, pulled faces in the mirrors, fake ice skated on the shiny floors (please say I'm not the only one who does that) and- why not say it? Bounced on the beds.

Sheesh, I was playing with fire.

When I did get caught, well it didn't go as badly as it could have done. I passed a room on the second floor and I heard voices arguing. The door was shut, but there was a conveniently large keyhole. Normally, I would have tactfully ignored it and stopped with the magical mystery tour and kept well away from that room.

But I was a tribute and I'd learned to watch and listen. Eavesdropping was the way I'd passed time in the Games, it kept me alive sometimes and somehow it had managed to pass in my book of morals (which now had some pretty massive smudges in it) as not all that bad.

So I bent down and peeped through.

They looked pretty angry with each other, which made sense 'cause they were arguing. The man had a very sort of dismissive face, looking like he had stepped in something not very nice, or like a teacher after they had given out loads of fail grades. The woman he was arguing with looked and sounded like an eight year old, right down to her clothes and make up. It gave me chills. She even stamped her foot like a little kid having a tantrum.

"Well I'm not looking after your weird little kid!"

"He's thirteen. Stop being a drama queen, do you think you were all that cheerful when you were a kid? Oh, I forget, you've obviously never grown up!"

"Shut up! Look, just because I don't want to go around with him-"

"Please, I've heard every excuse you can give me!"

"Forgive me for not wanting him to treat me like a moron! He made me look a right idiot last time, in public too!"

"Well, it's hardly like that's hard!"

"Oh, I give up talking to you!"

"Fine, have it your way! I don't want to talk to _you_!"

The woman turned away angrily and stomped towards the door. I jumped out of the way just in time and she almost zoomed past me. Now that I think about it, she was the most welcoming person I had met in that house so far. To her, I was so much at home that I was literally camouflaged in with the lamp next to me. The man, on the other hand, did notice I was there.

I should have run for it. Yelled something and run. But I couldn't, so I just cleared my throat, wishing the carpet was just a big hole that I could jump into and then I was idiotic enough to attempt a conversation.

"Excuse me, mister, I'm lookin' for-"

He wrinkled up his nose and just said :

"I'm sorry, I don't speak _redneck_" and strode off upstairs.

Now, that got my goat. What am I supposed to say to that?

"Well I don't speak pompous ass!" I called up the stairs after him. "Maybe we should get a translator!"

If it's all right, I'd rather not write what he said after that.

* * *

Eventually, I figured that since the only people I had encountered in the house were the couple and the Avox, I'd be better off trying the garden. After all, it was a nice day out and my embarassed face would fit right in with red roses. If I did meet any people in the garden, well talking to them could hardly be worse than the conversations I had already had that day. So, I figured it was a smart thing to do and at least if the President did get real fed up with me and kill me, at least I would've had the chance to see what a Capitol garden looks like.

There was a long hallway just off the kitchen that led (in a not entirely straight line- I was beginning to think the architect might have been more than a little fond of white liquor when he designed the house) around the outside of the house and reminded me of the corridors of the train that took me to the Capitol what felt like a very long time ago. The walls were lined with pictures- some of places I had never seen before, some of places so familiar that it actually hurt. I remember seeing a picture of hills rippling with grain and even though it wasn't polite to touch (although I'd been ignoring that completely the past hours) I reached out anyway and brushed the picture, as if it might suck me through it and land me home. Even though the picture was vivid and pretty, when I touched it it wasn't like home, it was cold and flat and I felt more lonely than ever. I quickly walked down the corridor and didn't look back in case I saw the picture again. I didn't want to see it. It just reminded me of what I'd left behind and what was missing in this grand and fancy but heartless city.

There was a pale wooden door that looked like it got opened a lot, it was worn around the hinges and bits of paint were flaking off. It looked like it got slammed a lot too and judging by its grubbiness I guess nobody posh or important ever saw it. Unlike the rest of the grand house it didn't look like it was there to show off. It was just there to be a door.

It was heavy and didn't budge when I gave it a small push, so I gave it a discreet kick and that did the job. Stepping through, I was welcomed by the sight of what looked like a big mass of green (well I say welcomed... the garden didn't really wave or say hey or anything, but it was a lot friendlier than the folks who lived in the house, so) but when I looked down it turned out it wasn't that at all. Like with most things in the world, when you look under the surface there's a whole different world beneath. What I saw when I looked down was hedgerow after hedgerow, trimmed like neat little green bricks. There were big white flowers on them, but from above I couldn't see what kind they were. One step at a time on the steep stone steps, I walked down to the ground, more and more of the garden revealed to me with each step I took.

They were roses. Blossoming white roses, spreading out from the hedges and reaching up to the sun. I couldn't count how many there were, but when I walked into the garden and the hedges began to surround me, all I could see was roses and greenery. The hedges loomed several feet above my head until looking up the sky were just pale blue strips of light and the ground just white strips of gravel. It all felt very personal, like I'd just stepped in a big massive cocoon. I couldn't see the city or surrounding buildings from where I was, I couldn't even see the house. I couldn't hear the city either, all I could hear was the chippy sounds of birds mimicking the noises they heard. I forgot what their name was until recently.

I walked on, past row after row of flowers. None of them really stood out to me, they was all lovely but the same. I was coming to the end of another row when one caught my eye.

It was right at the corner of the hedge and was just beginning to open out. It looked a lot more fragile than the other roses and at first I thought it had mildew or something. It was a lot smaller as well and it didn't shout out at me like the others did. But I saw it and I wanted it. I looked around nervously but not expecting anyone to be there. Nobody was. There was a pair of shears conveniently lying on the bench a few paces away so I picked 'em up. Surely no-one would mind, would they? I mean come on- it was only one little tiny rose, among hundreds. Nobody would miss it. It wasn't even all that pretty, I just wanted it. In fact, probably nobody would even notice-

"That's a nice one."

He said it real quiet, but did it make me start. I screamed and all the birds started complaining. I jumped with surprise and sliced my hand open with the shears, blood spattering the rose and turning it from white to red.

"The colours are lovely of course, but nothing says perfection like white."

I spun around and dropped the shears which luckily landed a good distance from my toes (I was wearing pretty thin shoes at the time) and instinctively I toe-shuffled them under the bench. My hand was begining to hurt like hell, but like any little kid who's done something bad I wanted to get rid of all the evidence so I stuck it discreetly behind my back and hoped it didn't make too much mess.

He was standing a few feet away, most of his face blocked by the big red book he was reading. Looking back, it was so big I'm surprised he didn't need a scaffold to hold it up his arms were so puny- I'd seen more body fat on stick insects. He looked up at me, his eyes peeping just over the top of the book like beetles under a rock. He closed the book and put it down, wrinkled his nose and folded his arms and looked at me like: "So what're you going to do now?"

I thought he'd look cross, but he didn't. He might have been, but he just looked like he was wondering what I was doing in his back garden. Not angry but not really all that pleased either. Certainly not as pleased as any Capitol lady I know of if she found Finnick Odair in her geraniums.

He held out his hand and I looked even more confused than he did. But then with his other hand he pulled out from his pocket a roll of white bandages and I twigged. So much for destroying evidence.

Sheepishly I held out my hand and he wound the bandages around and around until my hand looked a bit like a white boxing glove. He took the shears from under the bench (I really needed to work on my evidence destroying skills) and snipped off the bandage.

"Ain't you supposed to clean it?" I wasn't sure, but I had a vague idea that was how basic medical procedure worked.

"You can heal it later," he said like he was talking about bus timetables. "But this should be enough to prevent you from bleeding to death on my roses."

I shuffled awkwardly. I thought karma (or at least I think it was karma- that thing that gets you when you do something bad) was definitely over-reacting. I'd only tried to steal a flower. One flower. I searched science for some kind of justification.

"Blood's got iron in it," I managed at last. "Ain't iron good for you?"

"I don't think flowers suffer from anaemia," he said, taking it all very seriously. He slouched against the wall and smiled at me.

"But go ahead. Any other horticultural benefits?"

"Umm..." This was really stretching my knowledge of biology. Damn, why did he have to ask questions that made my brain hurt to answer 'em? I swore I'd get him for it later. Leave Lego on his bathroom floor or do something similarly horrendous.

"Iron's in blood and's magnetic," I regretted where my path of thought was taking me. "So the flowers'd be" I had nowhere to go on this "...magnetic."

He looked a bit surprised at my logic but seemed satisfied with my answer. Although come to think of it, he never really looked all that surprised at anything, just treating everything with the same mild interest and gravity. Heck, I bet he could talk about leprechauns and fairies and the little green men from District Thirteen the same way he talked about... well, everything else. You could never be quite sure if he was joking or not. Always kept you on your toes he did.

He picked up the book again and opened it like he was going to continue reading, but then changed his mind and put it down again.

"Friendly reminder that stealing is illegal in Panem," he said calmly and he began to walk along the hedgerow. He wasn't going fast but I had to run a bit to catch up before we fell into step. At that age, I had to look down slightly to talk to him. I was always taller than him but the difference was biggest then, in fact now that I think about it we looked kind of like that pair of clowns you always see in old movies. There's always a short fat one and a tall thin one, only neither of us came close to being fat, especially him.

After I'd had a good look at him, I realised just how similar he looked to the tributes in the Games. Without the book in his hands they seemed to shake and every so often he'd look over his shoulder even though it was obvious we were alone. He was wearing a massive jumper but it did the opposite of what he probably intended and he just looked smaller and skinnier than ever.

"You haven't been eating, have you?"

"No." he said shortly.

Neither of us said anything for a long while and just kept walking. I couldn't get over it. There was me, fighting in the Games, killing for food, searching for anything edible. Then there was him, in the Capitol surrounded by food that he couldn't bring himself to eat.

"Is that why you tried to sponsor me?" I asked him, then wished I hadn't. It was kind of a personal question.

"Yes." He said, the exact same way he had said no. I looked at him and I have to say I was surprised. Maybe he didn't want to see all that food go to waste.

"Don't flatter yourself," he added, as if he had opened a flap and peered straight into my head (another annoying habit). "There wouldn't have been anything like the satisfaction of telling the apes at school that I sponsored the winning tribute."

That reminded me of something. "Yeah, why aren'tcha in school?"

"Vacation," he replied. "Apparently the horror that the Games are over and won't be on until next year is so distressing we all have to take a week off to recover. Just as well. Have you ever tried learning Latin vocab with screaming in the background?"

"Have you ever tried being the one screaming in the background?" I blurted out without realising.

He didn't answer. I wondered what he was thinking, 'cause he looked thoughtful. So I went ahead and asked him.

"What are you thinking?" I regretted asking him, I guess it was a bit of a personal question.

"You ask lots of questions."

"Meh. I like lots of answers. Besides, 's polite. Folks like talking about themselves."

"I don't."

"Oh. Er. Well. Um. You're- er- strange."

"Point taken." He said cheerfully. "I suppose the apple doesn't fall far from the tree."

"What, do your folks not like talkin' 'bout themselves?"

"Oh, on the contrary. They love nothing more. My grandfather as you know started the Hunger Games and spent the next ten years of his time in office going on and on about it- until his bodyguard shot him in the back of the neck."

I stopped for a moment and thought back. So he was the President Snow who had made the deal with my desperate grandfather that trapped me into the Games. Now here I was, trying to seek help from his own grandson. Maybe I had come to the wrong place.

"Oh... I'm sorry."

"No you're not." he said frankly. I went bright red. "What? You aren't. Neither am I. It was only a pity that they hanged the man before I had the chance to send him flowers."

We turned the corner and passed a bird bath where some of the funny birds that mimicked noises were drinking. "So you see, we're all gluttonous licentious dishonest idlers with far too much money for our own good. Strange indeed."

"Shouldn't you.. try and be different?"

"Gluttonous? No. Licentious? No. Idle? No. Dishonest... no more than I need to be."

"Need to be?"

He smiled at me. "More questions, I see. Yes. Need to be. Nobody gets anything in the Capitol by playing by the rules."

"Rules?"

"Yes. Every game has rules. Even if they are not enforced."

"Game?" I was totally clueless.

"Of course. Just because you've won this round, doesn't mean that the game is over." He looked me straight in the eye. "Coincidentally, did you win the Hunger Games with good deeds? No, you did not. Oh, not that I'm blaming you or anything. But morals only have their worth in times of adversity. In times of adversity they are gone quicker than you can say, "Let the Hunger Games begin!". They have no value anymore. They are the hallmarks of a lost time." He shrugged. "They have no place in our world. Only with those for whom living holds little promise, not with those who have ambition or self-preservation."

He walked on briskly but barely made three paces before he turned around. Then he asked, as though he had only just wondered, "What are you actually doing in my garden? Surely not to listen to the rantings of a stubborn old cynic like me?"

His question prompted me to wake up and get back to what I needed to do. "Look, you" I snapped, pointing to the rosebush behind him. "Y'all got me into this mess, y'all get me out of it!"

"Do I have any choice in the matter?"

"Nope. Not at all."

"That's not fair."

"That's 'cause I ain't playin' by the rules."

He laughed and took my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. We walked back out of the garden (just as well he did- otherwise I'd have probably gotten lost again) and up the stairs inside the house again. It felt strange and somewhat dizzying to be back inside after being surrounded by plants for what felt like ages. Somehow we made our way to the living room, he was chuckling to himself.

"Cue headless chickens in three, two and one-"

He switched on the TV.

"It is now officially confirmed. Cassius Crane, President of Panem was shot dead this afternoon at fourteen hundred hours, by his bodyguard we believe. The Capitol would like to deny rumours of any plot or conspiracy and is honoured to announce that Gnaeus Kinnear will take his place as President of Panem."


End file.
